__________________I wrote a little song for you with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme to repeat what you already knew, as the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation.

You kept a distance out of fear you'd break, but what good's a single windchime hanging quiet all alone? The music our collisions would make is the sound that turns "the road that leads us back home" into "home."flickr

__________________"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

I'll do it for $92.50 and that's my final offer. All the regulars will tell you I'm the best, I've done other jerseys at a much higher cost.

__________________"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

I'll do it for $92.50 and that's my final offer. All the regulars will tell you I'm the best, I've done other jerseys at a much higher cost.

He's very good. I was working on one, but he will not disappoint.

__________________I wrote a little song for you with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme to repeat what you already knew, as the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation.

You kept a distance out of fear you'd break, but what good's a single windchime hanging quiet all alone? The music our collisions would make is the sound that turns "the road that leads us back home" into "home."flickr